Something to Talk About
by Fluffy-CSI
Summary: Oneshot songfic based on Bonnie Raitt's Something to Talk About. BA. Alex overhears some women gossiping in the bathroom and learns that people think she's a lot closer to her partner than she actually is. What will Bobby think?


A/N: This is a songfic based on Bonnie Raitt's song "Something to Talk About." Hooray for radio giving me fic ideas. Enjoy . . .

* * *

People are talkin', talking 'bout people  
I hear them whisper, you won't believe it  
They think we're lovers kept under covers  
I just ignore it, but they keep saying  
We laugh just a little too loud  
We stand just a little too close  
We stare just a little too long  
Maybe they're seeing, something we don't, darlin' 

Let's give them something to talk about  
Let's give them something to talk about  
Let's give them something to talk about  
How about love?

I feel so foolish, I never noticed  
You'd act so nervous, could you be falling for me?  
It took a rumor to make me wonder  
Now I'm convinced I'm going under  
Thinking 'bout you every day  
Dreaming 'bout you every night  
Hoping that you feel the same way  
Now that we know it, let's really show it, darlin'

Let's give them something to talk about  
A little mystery to figure out  
Let's give them something to talk about  
How about love, love, love, love?

* * *

"No, I swear!" 

Even though she'd just walked in, Alex had no trouble identifying the tone of the feminine voice issuing from the stall in the women's room - it was the one women used for juicy gossip. She took a moment to grimace in sympathy for whatever poor schmuck was being discussed, then banished the conversation from her thoughts as she headed for the last open stall.

"I was with her when she sawit," a voice called from the stall next to the first woman's. "Swear to god, guys, Jen's telling the truth. They were just standing there pretending they were looking at some form or something and I was _sure _one of them was going to throw the other over the desk any second."

Some snorted from a third stall. "Yeah, and they'd get away with it, too. They'd tell Deakins it was a new investigative technique and he'd just smile and nod."

Alex frowned and listened a little more closely as she stood up and began to re-buckle her belt. Gossip was a fact of life, but she still didn't like hearing snide comments be made about people she liked - and she liked her captain. Remaining quiet so she didn't announce her presence and alert the other women to an outsider being in their midst, she waited to hear if they had anything else to say about him.

"Deakins isn't dumb," protested the second women over the rustling sounds of her adjusting her pantyhose. "Give the guy some credit; he's between a rock and a hard place with this."

_Damn right, he isn't dumb_, Alex thought with a small smile, glad that at least one person was willing to stick up for the poor man. _He'd be a hell of a lot easier to handle if he was stupid_.

"I didn't say he was stupid," the third woman shot back. "I just said he'd ignore it."

"God knows he ignores everything else they do that flouts the rules," the first women grumbled.

Alex caught her breath as it hit her that if they were talking about a rule-breaking pair under Deakins, then they were probably talking about her and her partner. _I damn well better be wrong about their topic_, she thought, gritting her teeth to keep herself from breaking into the conversation and teaching the other women a lesson.

"He _watches _them," the second woman spoke up. "I've seen it. She'll practically be sitting on his lap while they pretend to work, and Deakins just shakes his head like it's funny."

"Well, all other issues aside," said the first woman, "I think they make a cute couple. They just _really _suck at hiding it."

"It's kind of hard to hide anything when it involves someone as weird as Bobby Goren." A toilet flushed, partially drowning out the last few words of the woman's sentence.

"He's always watching her when he thinks no one's looking," volunteered the third woman. "Honestly, he gives 'googly eyes' a whole new meaning."

They _were _talking about her and Goren! Alex froze in place, torn between the urge to barge out of the stall and slap the nearest gossipmonger, and the knowledge that doing so would only lead to more gossip.

The decision was taken out of her hands a few seconds later as the women switched to discussing someone's new haircut while they washed their hands. Then, still chattering about whether so-and-so's hair was naturally blonde, all three left the bathroom.

Alex snapped open the lock on her stall and stalked out, glaring at the empty room. What the hell kind of gossip was that? Bobby making "googly eyes" at her? What had those women been smoking?

She eyed her reflection in the mirror as if she could convince the image that the gossip was wrong. Neither Goren nor Eames had ever thrown anyone down on a desk at work. Well, at least not with romantic intentions; the time when Alex had sent a recalcitrant suspect skidding headfirst across their desks into Bobby's desk chair didn't count.

Besides, Bobby probably couldn't make "googly eyes" if you paid him for it. "Googly" was not in his repetoire of facial expressions.

"Detective Eames? You ok?"

She jumped, startled by the voice, and looked to the side where a secretary had stepped up to the sink and was watching her curiously. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Daydreaming, you know."

The woman nodded and gave her a smile. "Good. You had me worried for a second, there! So, uh . . . how's your partner?"

What was it with people in this building that they couldn't think of Eames without thinking of Goren, and vice versa? "He's fine," she said politely, rubbing her hands together briskly as she headed for the door. "I'll tell him you said hello." She was gone before the secretary could get out a reply.

She crossed the squad room, keeping her eyes on her partner and feeling ridiculous for doing it. What did she expect, that he'd be sitting at his desk holding a sign that said, _Googly Eyes Here_? She snorted, exasperated by her own thoughts. Bobby was just Bobby, and he always would be. He didn't follow social conventions when he could help it, so it was useless to try to judge his thoughts by however he might be acting on a given day.

Still, the smile he gave her when she slid into her seat across from him made her turn uncomfortably pink. _Pathetic, _her subconscious informed her. _You need to get laid BAD, Alex._

"Everything ok?"

She blinked, clearing away her silent thoughts. "What? Oh, yeah. Just fine," she mumbled, returning his smile. "Picked up some gossip in the ladies' room, you know how it is."

"Hmm." After studying her for a few seconds and deciding that he must have imagined the tinge of unease in her manner, he just nodded and let the subject drop. "Do you have the phone dumps from David Price? I can't find them anywhere."

She suppressed a sigh of relief at not being caught out on the images her stupid imagination was producing. "Yeah, they're . . ." Pulling the folder in question out from under a stack of ten other files, she slid it across to him. "Forgot I had them, sorry."

He gave her another smile, this one more appreciative. "Thanks, Eames."

_He doesn't even know he's doing it, you nincompoop! _she told herself. _Nothing good ever comes of eavesdropping, and this is no exception. Let it go before you embarrass yourself._

"You're welcome," she murmured, forcing her eyes down to her own work and resolving to scrub the bathroom conversation from her mind.

* * *

"You're _kidding _me!" said a voice from the table they were walking past. She recognized it as one of the voices she'd come to think of as The Gossips. 

Alex fought the urge to turn around and beat it out of the cafeteria, knowing her flight would just intrigue her partner and lead to more questions. Ever since she'd overheard the gossip session in the bathroom the week before, she hadn't quite been able to look at him the same way. It seemed like every time she looked at him now, her vision was colored with either attraction or apprehension . . . and she knew it was only a matter of time until he called her on it. Therefore, now - walking with her partner through the lunch room, balancing their trays and looking for a table - was _not _the time to let those thoughts back into her head.

"Eames?"

She whipped her head around and wanted to kick herself as she realized that she had been concentrating so hard on not thinking about him that she hadn't noticed him stop walking. If he hadn't put out an arm to halt her movement, she would have plowed right into him. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"How about here?" he asked, waving away her apology as he gestured to the table they were standing next to.

Just her luck, she thought with a silent groan - he'd picked the table right behind the gossiping women. "Uh, sure." It wasn't like she had a valid reason for avoiding the women, she reminded herself. And it wasn't their fault if she couldn't help listening in on other people's conversations. With a sigh, she set her tray down and pulled out a chair on the side of the table that put her back to the group of women.

Across from her, Goren was doing the same thing. "Are . . . are you ok?" he asked, looking at her with concern.

"Shh," one of the gossips hissed to her friends before Alex could answer. "Look who just sat down behind us!"

She watched Bobby's eyes widen slightly as he noticed three sets of eyes land on him, and she gave him a careless grin. "You should be used to getting stared at by the women in this building by now, partner."

He furrowed his brows, looking confused at her words. "Why would I be used to that?"

"They're not sitting next to each other," another of the gossips piped up, hardly bothering to lower the volume of her voice. "Are you sure they're . . ."

"Come on," replied her friend with a giggle. "The caf isn't exactly the height of romance; why would they do it here?"

"Speaking of 'doing it'," spoke up the third woman, matching the other woman's giggle, "guess what I heard?"

Goren looked at Eames and cocked his head toward the chatty women. "Who're they talking about? You're usually up on office news."

Alex coughed.

"What did you hear?" the other two gossips demanded of the first.

"Well . . ." the woman began dramatically, "I heard from one of my friends on their floor that one day last week he came in with scratches on his neck, and then she showed up wearing a turtleneck." The other two women excitedly murmured their understanding of the significance of a turtleneck.

Alex choked on the piece of bread she'd just begun to chew.

"Eames?" Goren tried again. "Are they talking about someone you know? You want to move?"

Not trusting her voice, she just shook her head in the negative. Admitting that she knew what they were talking about would be tacitly agreeing to answer his questions on the subject.

"I still don't know how they keep from getting in trouble with Deakins," said one of the women. "I mean, they could still be fired, no matter how high their solve rate is!"

Goren's eyes flew back to his partner's face at the mention of their commanding officer and he repeated softly, "Deakins?"

She closed her eyes and wished herself to a desert island somewhere far, far away from this lunch room.

"Well you know," commented another woman, "I can see him sleeping with a girl wild enough to leave scratches, but somehow, Eames doesn't strike me as the type to go in for that sort of thing."

Alex froze.

Goren blinked.

"Are you kidding?" retorted the third woman. "Have you _looked _at how big he is, lately? He probably doesn't even realize they're leaving marks on each other. And really," she added, lowering her voice to a lascivious whisper, "would either of _you _turn him down just because he liked to play rough?"

Goren's face flushed bright red and he stared across the table at his partner. "They . . . they're talking about us!"

Keeping her head down and her eyes focused on her hamburger, she nodded. "It's just gossip."

His mouth worked for a second before he managed to stammer, "They think we . . . they think there's something going on between me and you!"

Alex nodded with a shrug. "Yeah, it's one of their favorite topics. Stupid, huh?"

He looked past her to the three women, who had all leaned forward and belatedly lowered their voices. "It's not just stupid, it's . . . it's . . . absurd!"

She winced slightly at the displeasure in his words. Obviously, the women had got it even more wrong than she had thought. Time to diffuse the situation before Goren lost patience and tried to say something to the gossips. His doing that would only make things worse. "Hey Bobby?" she said, reclaiming his attention with her teasing tone.

"Hmm?" he responded without taking his eyes off the women at the next table.

"Did you really have scratches on your neck last week?" She couldn't believe she wouldn't have noticed such a thing on him, and she was hoping to hear that the gossip's friend had imagined them.

"Uh . . ." He tugged at his collar, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Yeah. Just little ones, though."

She raised her eyebrows, trying to look nonchalant. "And here I thought I knew all about your love life. You haven't been keeping me up-to-date on your girlfriends, apparently!"

He cleared his throat. "The scratches had nothing to do with my love life or my girlfriends - of which, as you already know, there are none at the moment."

"Aw, that's just because Sheila ditched you after she decided you put in too much overtime." And if she could keep herself focused on all the other women he could be with, she could avoid including herself in that category.

He shrugged. "Well, I _do_ do a lot of overtime. So do you."

"Wait a second," she broke in, pursing her lips questioningly. "If the scratches weren't from a girlfriend, who were they from?"

His ears began to turn pink as he muttered, "Sweetie Pie."

"Excuse me?" she said incredulously, unable to make any sense of that as an answer to her question.

"Lewis's cat." He leaned back in his chair, silently giving her permission to go ahead and laugh. "She has it in for me, tries to get a piece of me every time I'm over there."

Alex snickered. "Half the building thinks we're sleeping together . . . because Lewis's cat has a grudge against you?"

"Apparently," he acknowledged. "Which is why hearsay isn't considered acceptable evidence in court. But, you know, you _did _wear high-necked sweaters two days last week. Been holding out on me about_ your_ love life? "

"Hah."

"Is that a 'no'?" he pressed.

"There were no marks on my neck last week, scratches or otherwise. I just . . . felt like wearing those shirts."

"That doesn't answer my question," he pointed out, attention caught by her evasiveness.

"I don't have a boyfriend, Bobby. You already know that."

"Hmm." It occurred to him that it didn't have to be a boyfriend; for all he knew, she had gone on a bar crawl and brought home some stranger.

No . . . his Eames wouldn't do that. Would she?

"Penny for your thoughts," Alex spoke up as his eyes glazed over.

"Nothing," he said with a firm shake of his head.

There were times when she found it fairly easy to read him, and she was pleased to find that this happened to be one of them. "I don't make a habit of bringing home strangers," she informed him bluntly.

"You . . . what?"

"That's what you were wondering, right? Whether I might have had a pick-up or two, if not a boyfriend?"

He quickly looked away. "Of course not."

"Suuure." She downed the last of her burger and sighed. "I'm about ready to blow this joint - can only listen to so much gossip about myself before I go insane. How about you?"

"Huh?" He looked down at his own almost-untouched sandwich. "Uh, I've got a ways to go. You can head back upstairs if you want."

"Yeah, I think I will. See you in a few," she said, giving him a wave as she turned toward the exit.

"Sure," he mumbled, looking down at his lunch. _Me . . . and Eames? People think . . . but that's ridiculous_, he thought firmly. _She'd never be interested in me like that. Get your mind out of the gutter, Goren._

With a sigh, he went to work on his ham and cheese.

* * *

Alex tugged uncomfortably at her skirt, wondering what had possessed her to wear something so damn short when she knew she had a good chance of running into someone she knew. Sure, it had looked good in the mirror at home, but what help was looking good if you couldn't sit down without exposing yourself? 

Ah, screw it, she decided as she sidled up to the bar and gave the bartender a smile. The bar was going to get crowded soon, anyway; it wouldn't look at all odd if she stood all night. "Rum and coke, please," she said politely, sliding a ten across the bar.

"Sure." The bill disappeared into the man's apron and he turned away, but not before giving her a casual once-over and a wink.

He wasn't too bad looking, she mused. Of course, he was probably twenty years younger than her, though, so he was out of the running.

"The running?" When had she decided that she was actually looking to meet someone tonight, rather than just have a good time?

_Probably about the time that you realized that the closest you've come to getting laid in months is the office gossip about you and Goren_, answered a voice in her head. And really, what was wrong with looking for a little companionship? It was just that she'd put it on the back burner up until now; today had reminded her and now she had every right to start looking.

"Hey, Eames!"

She accepted her drink from the bartender and turned toward the person who'd called her. "Jen," she acknowledged weakly, taking a sip of her drink to hide her annoyance at finding herself face-to-face with one of the gossips. Jen Braun was a secretary on the eighth floor, and it had been she and two other secretaries that Alex had overheard in the bathroom and in the lunch room.

"Hiii!" Jen cooed, sounding like she was already well on her way to being drunk. Leaning sideways to look over Alex's shoulder, she added, "Are you here alone?"

She gave the younger woman a casual smile. No way was she going to turn down a gossip-quashing opportunity like that! "Oh, no," she said with a wave of her hand. "My date's just in the bathroom. In fact . . ." She pretended to spot someone across the room. "There he is. I have to go grab him. Nice seeing you!"

There were no likely men in the area she'd pointed to, though, so she made her escape in that direction but then doubled back to the other end of the bar.

"Trouble with someone?" asked the bartender. She was good looking enough that he'd taken note of her when he'd served her, and now he was curious about her change of position.

Alex shrugged. "Just a co-worker I want to avoid."

"Gotcha." The man glanced around, making sure that no one was waiting to be served, then propped his elbow on the bar and looked at her with interest. "I think I've only seen you in here once or twice before. Are you one of the cops?" he asked, nodding toward the knot of off-duty police officers who occupied almost half the room.

"Yeah. I just don't do bars very often."

"Well, welcome to mine," he said with a grin. "Paul Watson," he added, extending his hand.

She took it and returned his smile. "Alex Eames."

"Nice to meet you. So, Alex Eames, what brings you out tonight? And can I get you another drink?" He gestured to her drink, which she'd nearly finished. "On the house, if you're willing to give me some honest-to-god conversation in return." Slewing his eyes to the side pointedly, he shrugged. "Most of these guys are good tippers, but they can't talk worth shit once they've got a drink or two in them."

She eyed him suspiciously for a moment, not sure if that was a come-on or a genuine request for conversation, then nodded. "Sure. I'll just have another of the same - although I can't promise you I'm any better at conversation than anyone else in here."

Paul waved away that comment as he turned to mix her drink. "You're already light years ahead of them," he told her a minute later, passing her the rum and Coke and then a shot of something clear. "I've done this long enough to know a steady person when I see one."

"Oh wait," she said, pushing the shot glass back toward him, "this isn't -"

"Ah, take it," he urged teasingly. "I have to loosen your tongue somehow!"

She contemplated the two drinks in front of her. "What's the shot?"

"Absolut Raspberri."

"Hmm, doesn't sound bad, actually. Well," she said, hoisting the shot glass and giving him a smile, "here's to conversational cops and generous bartenders." She downed the shot in one gulp and set the glass back down. "Thanks."

"No problem. Oops," he said, noticing a hand waving at the other end of the bar. "Gotta go help those guys. Let me know if you need anything."

She nodded and watched him go, then turned on her stool to face the room, scanning the crowd out of habit for anyone she knew.

"Detective Eames!"

She fought the urge to dump her drink over the head of Shirley Carr, another of the gossips, who had just appeared at her elbow. "Hi, Shirley. How ya doing?" she asked, forcing herself to be polite and finding that it was slightly easier to do with two drinks in her.

"Oh, I'm good. How are you? Me and Jen and Lisa are sitting down the other end if you want to -"

"Thanks," Alex interrupted, "but I'm here with someone."

Shirley looked suspicious of that, but seemed to decide against openly challenging Alex's honesty. "Anyone we know?"

"Depends," said a male voice from behind Alex. "Do you know me?"

She recognized the voice immediately, but still spun around on the stool to verify what she thought she'd heard.

Yep, there was her partner, casually resting one arm on the bar and smiling at Shirley.

"Detective Goren!" breathed Shirley, sounding like she was only a few seconds from throwing herself at his feet. "I didn't see you . . ."

"No problem," Goren said easily, maintaining his smile. "I, uh, got distracted and left Alex alone for a while."

Had he just used her first name, out of the blue? Eames stared at him in surprise. "Uh, Bobby . . ."

"Yes?" He smiled politely at her, looking for all the world like he had no idea he was doing anything out of the ordinary.

"Can I . . . talk to you?" she said pointedly, jerking her head to the side to indicate that she wanted to get away from Shirley before they had this conversation.

"Of course." He coolly helped her get off the stool without her skirt becoming indecent and allowed her to pull him across the room to a semi-secluded corner. "What's up?"

'What's up'?" she echoed. "Are you nuts? What are you doing, Bobby? Do you know who that was?"

"Shirley Carr," he said immediately. "Why?"

"You . . ." She stared at him in disbelief. "She's one of the people who was . . . talking about us! And you just gave her more fuel for the fire!"

" 'Scuse me," interrupted a young man carrying a tray as he stopped beside the pair. "Miss, the boss sent this over for you." He carefully passed her a shot glass filled to the brim with what she assumed was more raspberry vodka. "Compliments of the house."

Recovering quickly from her surprise, Alex accepted the drink and tipped the waiter. "Thanks."

When he retreated, she looked across to the bar, where she found Paul grinning at her from behind it. _Drink up_, he mouthed, imitating the action of doing a shot.

She grinned back at him and rolled her eyes, then did as ordered. "Ugh," she muttered, lowering the shot glass. "This stuff is good, as vodka goes, but I think I prefer it mixed into a drink where I can't taste it."

Goren took the shot glass from her hand and examined it as though it contained a clue to the events of the past few seconds. "Why are you getting shots on the house? And how many of those have you had?"

She cocked her head to the side, curious about the undertone in his words, which she couldn't quite put her finger on. "That was my second shot," she said with a shrug. "And it seems to be because I just made that good impression on the boss."

He continued to look at her. "What kind of impression?"

It occurred to Alex that he was suspicious of her interactions with the bartender. "I promise you, Goren," she said, giving him a joking elbow in the ribs, "it didn't involve any sexual favors or bribes. Now, can we get back to how you just totally screwed both of our reputations by showing up here?"

He frowned. "I didn't screw your reputation. How many drinks have you had?"

"Four," she said shortly. "And unless I missed something big, yes, you did screw my reputation. They already thought we were sleeping together before you popped up pretending to be my date, remember?"

"I didn't say I was your date . . ."

"Not _explicitly_," she corrected.

"And besides," he went on as though he hadn't heard her, "if they already believe it, then what's the harm in letting ourselves enjoy the benefits?"

She stared at him. "You're not serious." A pause. "Wait, _are_ you serious?"

"Why shouldn't I be?"

"Uh, how about because that's completely false logic, and if anyone's supposed to be illogical tonight, it should be me, the one who's drinking?"

He casually rested an arm across her shoulders, ignoring the pointed look she gave the appendage. "It's not illogical, Alex. If you -"

"You did it again!" She gave him a shove, just hard enough to put some space between them, and glared up at him. "That's the second time tonight you've called me 'Alex,' and you never do that. What gives, Bobby?"

"Nothing 'gives,'" he protested unconvincingly. "It just seems to me that if they're going to talk anyway, we may as well give them something to talk about."

"Who are you and what did you do with my partner?"

Watching her warily, he replaced his arm around her shoulders, pulling her a little closer this time. "They're watching us, you know."

"Yeah," she retorted, pushing him again but failing to move him, "and that's why you shouldn't even think about standing this close to me, you big lug!"

He absorbed the force of her shove effortlessly. "If I were standing three feet away, they'd be saying the same things."

"So what, we should climb all over each other, since that's what people think we do in our spare time anyway?"

He paused before shrugging and saying, "Essentially, yes. I mean, if we want to, there's no reason why -"

"You're insane," she said with a shake of her head. "Are you drunk?"

"Totally sober," he avowed solemnly.

"Then what the hell's gotten into you?"

He withdrew slightly, loosening his arm around her. "Does that mean you're not interested?"

"If I'm . . . This has nothing to do with whether I'm interested or not," she shot back, crossing her arms defensively.

"Of course it does." He used his hand on her shoulder to pull her farther into the corner. "Did you hear what I said? They already think we're sleeping together, Eames!"

"No shit, Sherlock. Tell me something I don't know."

He looked down at her for a second, trying to think of a way to get through to her, then dipped his head and kissed her firmly.

"Bobby!" she squeaked, struggling to get out of his arms. "What are you . . ."

"Showing you something you don't know," he answered before she finished the question. "At least, I think you didn't know it."

"Didn't know _what_?" She ran a hand through her hair nervously. "Wait. Maybe I need another drink before I can deal with whatever your answer to that is, actually."

He shook the shot glass at her pointedly and shook his head. "No. No more drinks for you tonight; I don't want to have to carry you home."

"That's stupid," she muttered, glaring at him but not trying to move toward the bar. "You've never had to carry me home, no matter how much I drank."

"That's not my point."

"Ok, then," she snapped. "What _is _your point?"

He considered her thoughtfully for a second. "My point," he finally said, lowering his head to look her in the eye, "is that if we're going to suffer the ill effects of the office knowing we have a relationship, then we might as well go ahead and have one."

"Bobby!"

"Listening to those women at lunch today . . ."

She groaned. "Can we forget about that, please?"

"No. As I was saying, listening to them tell each other about our sexual exploits -" He paused to look at her curiously when she made a choking noise, then shrugged and picked up where he'd left off: "It made me wonder if maybe they were seeing something we weren't."

"I did _not _have hickeys!"

He chuckled tensely. "That's not what I mean. I . . . well, I mean if I'm honest, I do find you attractive, and -"

"Stop," she broke in, putting a hand against his chest to back up the command. "We can _not _really be having this conversation. I don't understand you!"

"I'm trying to explain myself," he said with a scowl, "if you'd just stay quiet long enough to hear me out."

"Fine. Knock yourself out."

"Thank you," he said with an acknowledging nod. "What I was about to say is that I find you attractive, but I've never dared let it show because of how it would affect our jobs and how people look at us."

"Ok." Willing herself to ignore the non-immediate implications of that statement, she looked at him closely. "So what's different now?"

"I found out that what we're living _is _what would happen if there were something between us . . . because in everyone else's eyes, there is. People think we're lovers, and nothing's gone bad. We haven't been fired, no one looks down on us . . ."

"Ok, wait. You're not looking at this rationally, Bobby . . ."

"The only obstacle I see anymore," he continued, "is whether _you_ have any interest in _me_. And, well . . . I might as well find out now."

She stared at him and echoed, "You want to know if I have any interest in you."

"Yes."

"Just like that? I say yes or no and we go on from there?"

"Yes."

"And if I say yes then you think we should start sleeping together, since gossip says we're doing it anyway?"

He cleared his throat nervously. "Well, when you put it that way . . ."

"When I put it that way," she finished for him, "it sounds ridiculous. And you know why that is, Goren? Because it _is _ridiculous!"

"What's so ridiculous about it?" he asked quietly. "If you're not interested in me, that's one thing, but if you are . . . what's ridiculous about testing out the waters?"

She narrowed her eyes. "You want to 'test the waters'?"

"Basically, yes," he said, too distracted to pick up on the note of danger in her voice.

"You want to know what would happen."

He swallowed. "Yes."

"Fine."

"What?" he said, not trusting his ears.

"I said, 'fine'." With that, she grabbed hold of his tie just below the knot and pulled him down to her level. "You want to see what happens? Fine, we'll see what happens," she snapped, kissing him almost violently.

The room spun around him as he tried to comprehend what she had just said and what she was doing now. "Alex . . ." he murmured, draping his hands over her shoulders.

"There." She released his tie and pulled back, face flushed and eyes slightly unfocused. "I liked it." The words came out as more of a challenge than an acknowledgement, as if she were daring him to agree with her.

"You did?" He glanced over his shoulder and found the three secretaries, as well as the bartender, all watching what was going on in the corner with rapt attention.

Turning back to her, he found her watching him with a slight smile on her face. "Yeah, I did," she told him. "So now what are we supposed to do about it?"

His mouth worked for a moment as he tried to form a coherent answer to that question. "I . . . don't know."

"Oh?" she murmured, raising her eyebrows skeptically. "Does that mean we need to do more research before taking action, then?"

"Research?"

She fingered his tie lightly, giving it a playful tug and then releasing it. "Yeah. You know, look into what happens next naturally?"

"Alex . . ."

"Mmm?" She slid past him to lean her weight against the wall, then smiled. "Do you really need me to walk you through it?"

"You're . . . you're saying you want to . . ."

"You know," she said with amusement, "for someone who was practically jumping down my throat for an answer five minutes ago, you're surprisingly incoherent now."

He blinked, then fixed his eyes on something beyond her shoulder and smiled slightly. "Not incoherent," he murmured, grabbing her hand and pulling her into the dark hallway that led to the bar's back door, "just thinking. Come here." He leaned against the back wall and gave one final yank on her hand, pulling her forward until she ran into his body, at which point he wrapped both arms securely around her waist. "This," he said after letting his hands stroke up and down her back for a few seconds, "feels natural to me."

"Bobby . . ." She tipped her face up and rose on her toes, trying to gain enough height to touch her lips to his. She swallowed a squeak of surprise when his arms tightened around her, lifting her up the bare inch she needed, then relaxed and kissed him.

The air around them seemed to heat up as they clung together, and a few minutes later Alex returned drifted back to reality long enough to realize that there was a hand creeping up her bare stomach. "Bobby," she murmured, putting her hand over his and stopping its movement. "Wait."

He pulled his lips away from hers and looked at her nervously. "What's . . . what's wrong?"

She released his hand. "I'm with you on the 'might as well give them something to talk about' thing," she breathed against his ear. Then, patting his hand teasingly, she added, "But I think this might be a little _too _much to talk about."

He froze, afraid for a second that she had changed her mind and was rejecting him. "What?" he managed as he tried to wrap his brain around what was happening.

She smiled against his lips. "I'm saying 'not here,' Bobby. Not 'not at all'."

"You mean . . ."

Tilting her head forward until her forehead touched his, she sighed happily. "Your apartment or mine?"


End file.
